Fantasy Chronicles #07

It was the second week of July. A scorching heat wave had baked our region for nearly a week. Folks retreated to wherever they could find relief. Swimming pools, the malls, movie theaters; anywhere that could keep them cool.

Wifey asked if I would go shopping with her; a trip to Costco was in order. Although I could list at least a dozen other things I would prefer to do with my Saturday afternoon, I smiled and said, "Sure." I love my wife. Although I love my wife, that does not mean that my mind is numb nor my eyes are blind to the never ending flow of sexual stimulation that bombards me. A trip to Costco on a hot, summer day would have its, um, perks.

My favorite perk was wifey herself. Modest, yet amazingly sexy, she was unashamed to head out in a pair of shorts that were comfortable for her and a great view for me; and countless other men whose minds and eyes were also alive and well. It always gave me a secret, naughty rush at the thought of how many men those shorts lured into trying to figure out if the fabric impression over her crotch was just the natural seam of the shorts or a sexy revelation of her married slit. Not to mention the stares that would unceasingly be bearing down on her ass where those red cotton shorts hugged her form in a way that dared men to find her panty lines.

She also was wearing a white tank top with a bra underneath that offered her breasts, which needed little help to begin with, a lift that made me want to reach under her tank top and fondle her for hours. I could imagine the thoughts others might have of her.

But I have no interest in sharing her. I am not one who takes delight in the idea of "slutifying" my wife in some cuckold perversion. She's mine, all mine. I have absolutely no intentions of ever sharing her. The same can be said about cheating. I don't cheat. I won't cheat.

Now, when it comes to me not cheating, where reality takes a stand, my fantasies definitely ignore the boundaries. Admittedly my mind plays. Of course, I am not a freak. My guess is that I am typical. All guys do it. I am perhaps in a minority of men who do it, but never verbalize about it and certainly never act out on it. It is part of the deal that comes with not cheating.

As we drove to the store, I enjoyed the repeated glances I had of wifey as she sat in the car next to me. Those amazing 36c breasts full and ripe had a perky jiggle, both under her tank top as well as the flesh that was exposed above the tempting, "u-curve" neckline of her tank top. Her inviting, creamy, white flesh was dazzling to my eyes. Adding to my swelling lust was the private knowledge I had of what was discreetly covered under her top and bra; those huge, light, pink nipples that I often sucked until I could suck no more.

By the time we arrived at the store and I grabbed a cart, my lust was in full bloom. I was about to enter a buffet of bodies on display. My wifey was not the only woman dressed in summer wear to beat the heat. By the time I had pushed our cart through the large, warehouse entrance, my eyes had already been entertained by a parade of attractive bodies randomly on display.

As wifey and I zigzagged aisle by aisle, my eyes discreetly darted with horny intentions from one woman to the next. The mix of forbidden fruit daring my eyes to look, and wifey's body mine to enjoy but not at that moment, tormented me as I squirmed to keep my hard cock discreetly positioned in my shorts.

In the produce area, I leaned against our parked cart as wifey lingered over the choices of fruit. This gave me a chance to watch as others exited the extremely cold side-room where products were kept that required temperatures in the 40's. We all know what the sudden contrast of cold air does to most women's nipples. I positioned myself to take inventory of each pair that passed my way, working on the lust-formulas that all men have stored in our minds which we use to calculate the size and features of a women's nipples, ably using just the small fraction of data made available to our eyes.

I was delighted, albeit mildly surprised, at the number of braless women on display. Wifey rarely went braless in public, unless she was in formal wear or swimwear. So it always surprised me at how free some women felt to let their tits jiggle freely. Delighted. Mildly surprised. Definitely NOT complaining.

Wifey waved me over to her. I pulled myself away from my grandstand viewing of "nipples on display" and pushed our cart over to her. She pointed to a crate mixed with apples and oranges and asked me to load them in our cart. Then as she guided our cart towards a pallet box loaded with watermelons, in her adorable, innocent naiveté she said to me, "help me find a couple of good melons."

I couldn't help but crack a sly smile and muffle a snicker that she understood to be my raunchy interpretation of her choice of words. She met my reaction with a frown and glare as if to say, "Give me a break and just pick out a couple good ones!" She walked away, leaving me to my task, as she gave me a shrug that either meant "whatever" or "look at MY melons." I chose to believe the latter.

As I examined the watermelons, my eyes were greeted by the young, married woman on the other side of the watermelon pallet. She was thumping her finger on one watermelon, and then another, trying to discern which might be the sweetest and ripest. Then, upon making her choice, I froze as I watched her lean over to cradle the watermelon she had chosen and lift it to her cart. As she bent over, her mid-twenties, huge, married breasts dangled into view as her top hung low enough for my eyes to see past her breasts and to her abdomen.

I pretended to focus on the melons my hand was pretending to be examining. The fact was my focus was on the melons I could only fantasize my hands could examine. I saw it all. Full breast curves, dark nipples, swaying flesh. It was three or four seconds of complete exposure that made the entire shopping trip worth my time.

After freezing and admiring her, I noticed she was fumbling with the heavy watermelon. I politely and kindly stepped towards her and disarmingly offered to help. With a look of relief on her face she thanked me and stepped back.

"This one?" I asked as I pointed to the melon I was pretty sure she had been fumbling with.

"Yes please." She giggled nervously and said, "Usually my husband handles the melons, but he is at work."

"No problem" I said, teased by her unintended, double-meaning. My hands lifted the watermelon to her cart. At the very same time, my mind entertained the fantasy of my hands lifting her melons to my mouth. I set the watermelon down in her cart and appropriately stepped away.

"Thank-you very much" she said as she turned her cart and began to roll away from me. I just smiled and nodded, deciding an unspoken gesture was safer than trusting any spoken words that might escape my mouth. I am good at compartmentalizing... but the thoughts of fondling her melons was brushing up against the line of reality.

I watched as she pushed her cart, enjoying a fleeting view of her young-married-ass packed inside a pair of jeans that certainly would make her hubby proud.

In reality, she disappeared into the crowd of cart-pushing customers. But in my mind, I invited her into the corner of that cold side-room. She followed.

Our carts met in the corner where the stacks of products curved, leaving a little corner of floorspace tucked out of sight. Our eyes met as she smiled at me. I allowed my eyes to reveal to her the line I traced from her eyes, down her face and to her amazing tits.

She nervously quivered. With her hand on the front bar of her cart, she turned her back to the cart and pointed her breasts at me where I was tucked away in that corner.

She was such a slut. Begging me to touch her. Daring me to feel the full flesh of her busty tits. I did not disappoint her. I was careful to not be seen as I curled my hands under the lower curve of her tits. I could feel the fabric of her tank top brush along her braless flesh. I squeezed and pinched her nipples as I expertly navigated through her tank top.

I pulled back for a brief instant as a couple shuffled nearby. As soon as they moved out of view, I again fondled her. This time, I dared to run my hand under her top so I could feel the warm flesh of her breasts. I glanced around, timed my opportunity perfectly and with one hand lifted her top just over one breast as I leaned in to give it just a two-second slurp, locking my mouth around that hard nipple and sucking hard.

I flopped her tit out of my mouth and dropped my hands to my side, lifting my face away from her. I could not afford to linger more than a second or two in such a public spot, even if we were being careful.

She shoved me further back into the corner. With a car-jacker's impulse, she plunged her hand down my shorts and wrapped her hand around my throbbing cock. I was utterly shocked at this move. I did not even have time to react. I stood there as she tugged my cock three times only, then slipped her hand back out of my shorts.

She smiled and leaned in to whisper in my ear, "You feel like you would be a great fuck. Too bad we had to meet like this."

And with that, she turned around and walked away, pushing her cart out of view. It was a moment of torture!

I was jerked back to reality when wifey returned to me at our cart parked next to the box of watermelons. The balance of our shopping and the wait in line to checkout was interminably long as my body ached to take wifey in my hands and do unspeakable things to her.

As we unloaded our cart into the back of our SUV, I couldn't wait to get her inside. The minute we shut the doors, I leered at her and brazenly fumbled my hand under her tank top as I kissed her. "Nice melon" I playfully said to her.

She smiled, holding her hand over her top so that nobody passing by our vehicle would be able to even suspect that I was fondling her. "Let's get home and see how sweet the melon tastes to you."

I bantered back, "I hear melons are especially sweet with a little bit of pussy honey on 'em." Wifey blushed.

As I backed out of our parking space, I saw the young married woman pushing her cart to her car. My secret lusts for her spiked as I considered the connection between her and wifey. Fantasy and reality. Imagination and hands-on experience.

When we arrived home, we unloaded the SUV quickly. Then we shared in a wonderful melon sharing snacktime, complete with that pussy honey. Melons . . .